


Home Invasion

by Sandrine Shaw (Sandrine)



Category: Eye Candy (TV)
Genre: Banter, Breaking and Entering, M/M, Not entirely healthy relationship dynamics, Sleepy Sex, Snarky fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 02:42:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8731690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandrine/pseuds/Sandrine%20Shaw
Summary: Bubonic breaks into Tommy's apartment in the middle of the night. Tommy should probably be more upset than he is.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Taken For A Ride](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7820878) by [parabolica (orphan_account)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/parabolica). 



Tommy wakes up in the pitch black to a sense of wrongness. It's impossible to tell exactly what it was that pulled him from his sleep – maybe there was a noise, or maybe it's just his oversensitive cop senses letting him know something's up, but without even getting out of bed, he knows that someone is inside his apartment.

The adrenaline pumping through his veins has him wide awake at once, hyperaware of every sound. The cars outside. Wind howling against the roof. The fast inhale-exhale of his own breath.

He reaches to grab his gun from next to the bed, where he put it when he went to sleep last night, but feeling around on the floorboards finds only empty air.

"I hope you don't mind that I took the liberty of putting your weapon away." A voice cuts through the dark, momentarily startling Tommy before the familiarity of the crisp, amused tones registers.

The light switches on, flooding the room with white neon hues, bright enough to temporarily blind him. He squeezes his eyes shut and turns his head, cursing under his breath. "Jesus fucking Christ, Charlie. What the hell?!"

His heart is still beating up a storm behind his ribcage. Yet, to his annoyance, he already finds himself relaxing instinctively. It's a dangerous reaction to finding one of the most notorious hacktivists their unit has ever dealt with in his home uninvited, but it's hard to convince himself that the guy is a personal threat when Tommy knows intimately the kind of noises he makes when he comes or what his face looks like relaxed in sleep.

Tommy squints up at Charlie. He's missing his trademark mask, so it's probably safe to assume that this is a social call.

From the doorway, Boris is watching them, wagging his tail and clearly unconcerned that there's a stranger standing in the middle of the bedroom. It figures that he'd _like_ Charlie. When Tommy scowls at him, Boris trots off, unimpressed. Dirty little traitor.

"You couldn't have rang the doorbell instead of breaking in?"

Charlie flashes a quick, razor-sharp smile at Tommy. "Now, where'd be the fun in that? You have an electronic lock. You have to realize that it's practically an invitation to hack it."

Tommy doesn't bother to point out that the lock is technically supposed to be unhackable. At least that's what his landlord promised. Hell, he's been working Cyber Crimes for long enough to know that there is no such thing as an unhackable device, especially not to someone of Bubonic's caliber.

With a frustrated sigh, he rubs his eyes and fishes for his phone to check the time. 1:26 in the morning. It's barely been two hours since he came home from a long night at the office and hit the sack after a quick, perfunctory shower and an unsatisfying raid of his poorly stocked fridge. At least tomorrow's a Saturday and he can sleep in. Small mercies.

"Your place is a mess." Charlie sounds nonplussed, appraising the room. The judgement in his voice is a bit much, all things considering. Not everyone can afford big, expensive houses in the suburbs, but Tommy's apartment wasn't too bad. When it still had furniture. And really, whose fault was that?

"Yeah, well, some asshole made sure all my stuff was stolen. Blame him."

His attempt at guilt-tripping Charlie only earns him a raised eyebrow. "Really, Tommy? Did he also tie you down to stop you from going to IKEA to get a new bed?"

"The tying up part sounds interesting," Tommy quips back. "I'm sure he'd appreciate having me all bound and helpless."

It's just meant to be a witty comeback, but he doesn't miss how Charlie's eyes darken and a flush rises to his cheeks, the way he bites his lower lip. For all he prides himself on always being in control, Charlie has plenty of tells when you know where to look, and Tommy has spent months studying them all. Of course, it's of precious little use to him when his willingness to use them against Charlie outside the bedroom is diminishing the more he learns about him.

Tommy stands and closes the distance between them, enjoying the weight of those bright blue eyes looking him up and down and drinking in the expanse of naked skin on display.

"Maybe I just like the minimalist style." He continues arguing for the sake of it, but his mind is already miles away as he reaches for Charlie, hands settling on narrow hips. Charlie brought in the cold from outside, the crisp, clean smell of winter air clinging to his clothes. They feel chilly against Tommy's fingers when he strips them off.

Charlie's adam's apple bobs as he swallows.

"There's a difference between minimalist and empty. I'm not having sex with you on a bare mattress on the floor," he says. But he's not making any move to stop Tommy from methodically undressing him and carelessly dropping his clothes on the floor, rendering his protest little more than perfunctory.

"There are worse places we've had sex," Tommy points out, pleased at the hiss he elicits when he puts warm hands on cool skin. He doesn't give Charlie the chance for a comeback, pulling him in and pushing him down onto the mattress where he lands with a startled little sound.

Tommy grins.

He joins him on the makeshift bed, sealing Charlie's mouth with his and swallowing any further argument that might have been forthcoming. He tastes like coffee and something sweet and sugary, and Tommy chases the flavor until it's gone and all that's left is moist heat and the familiar sensation of Charlie's tongue sliding lazily against his own.

He's been half-hard since the moment Charlie revealed himself, almost a Pavlovian response by now – something he doesn't care to examine too closely. Now that the adrenaline is draining away, he's too tired and too impatient for anything complicated; he just wraps a spit-slick hand around both their dicks and starts stroking them, all delicious friction and the velvety feel of skin on skin.

"That what you came here for?" He speaks the words right against Charlie's lips, and he feels the answering smirk brushing against his mouth, mischievous and teasing.

"Wouldn't you like to know? Maybe I had some nefarious plan."

Tommy lets his thumb slide across the head of Charlie's cock, gathering some of the milky wetness to ease his strokes. It earns him a hiss and a bitten-off groan, Charlie arching his back in a tense, sinuous curve.

"Yeah? Maybe you just missed me," Tommy taunts, his voice rough and breathless now, and he jerks them off faster. His orgasm feels within reach, but his mind is set on making Charlie fall apart first even when it takes every ounce of concentration to ward off his own climax. 

"Careful, Tommy, all that ego might get —"

A particularly vicious stroke – Tommy's fingertips sliding carefully up the length of Charlie's dick, nails barely grazing the oversensitive skin. Whatever Charlie was going to say gets lost in a wordless little cry, and then he's coming, spilling all over Tommy's fingers, splashes of white landing on his chest and Tommy's abdomen and the sheets.

Tommy's hand keeps moving, his rhythm becoming unsteady and erratic. It doesn't take much. The feel of Charlie's spent, still semi-hard cock sliding against his own, the slick pressure of his fingers, the sight of Charlie covered in his own jizz – it's enough to send Tommy over the edge within just a handful of strokes.

For a moment he lets himself collapse on top of Charlie, burying his face in the crook of the other man's flushed neck, breathing in the smell of sex and sweat and warm skin. Pressed together like this, he can feel Charlie's rapid heartbeat vibrating against his own chest. A hot, damp flick of tongue against the side of his neck makes him jump.

"Fuck." He releases a harsh breath, carelessly wiping his hand on the ruined sheets.

Beneath him, Charlie laughs quietly – almost a happy sound, notably lacking the usual rancor. Tommy rolls off and looks at him, enjoying the rare, carefree moment, those blissful punch-drunk minutes before reality sets back in.

"I've been thinking about moving," Tommy admits, when the tightness in his breath has eased away, returning to their earlier conversation. He's too wired to fall back asleep, and not in the mood to talk shop, not when it's inevitably bound to end in an argument about ethics and law that he's not nearly awake enough to win. Housing seems to be a safe, innocuous topic. "Not much point in replacing all the stuff if I just have to drag it halfway across the city. The whole industrial loft thing seems kind of immature. Maybe I should, I don't know..."

"Buy a farm?" Charlie chirps, amusement dancing in his eyes, clearly mocking Tommy for sounding like a pretentious hipster.

Yeah, he probably deserved that dig. He snorts and lazily flips Charlie off. "Fuck you. No, just— You know, get a proper grown-up place. Rent a two-bedroom apartment or something."

"Right. If you really want to do the _mature_ thing, you should —" Charlie abruptly stops himself mid-sentence, face shutting down all at once. "Never mind."

It's weird, because Tommy can't imagine whatever sharp dig had been on the tip of Charlie's tongue would make him retreat like that. It only serves to make his curiosity spike. "What?"

"No, it was stupid. Forget I said anything."

"You didn't actually say anything. You're not usually one to hold back with your opinions. Just tell me." Even post-coital, their banter has always been on the prickly, bluntly honest side. Tommy doesn't like the idea of Charlie starting to handle him with kid gloves for some reason.

The silence stretches and Charlie doesn't answer. For a moment, Tommy thinks he isn't going to. There's something uncharacteristically skittish about him in the way he won't meet Tommy's gaze and looks half-ready to grab his clothes and flee.

His eyes are still fixed on the ceiling when he finally speaks. He sounds annoyed, clearly not happy with Tommy's pushing. "It's not exactly practical to pay rent for a place where you spend maybe two nights a week, at most."

Seconds tick by until the words sink in, and even after they do, Tommy needs another moment where he questions himself whether he may have misunderstood. "Are you... asking me to move in with you?"

"I told you it was stupid." Charlie makes a move to roll out of bed — and that's not going to happen, not if Tommy has any say in it.

"No. Wait. It's not. I just—"

He grabs Charlie's wrist, pulse racing under his fingers, and pulls him back. There's a moment when he seems inclined to put up a struggle and bolt, and Tommy reacts on instinct, letting his police training kick in and pinning him down. Charlie might be able to bring the entire city to its knees without breaking into a sweat, crippling the infrastructure with a few keystrokes, but physically, he's no match for Tommy. They've never been in a situation where this came into play before, and perhaps that's why a flash of surprise crosses Charlie's face when Tommy effortlessly holds him down with his body, pinning his wrists above his head.

It's a bit of a rush, the sight of Charlie held immobile beneath him all naked and sweaty and tousled-haired, making Tommy's dick give an interested twitch. But he's too tired for a second round and too busy wondering how exactly the two of them got to a point where fucking _Bubonic_ would ask Tommy to come live with him and Tommy wants to say yes. Except Charlie was right – it's mostly symbolic because he's been spending more time at Charlie's place than his own for a while now, even when it means getting up half an hour earlier to account for the longer morning commute.

Charlie may have been the one who started it with his taunting invitation to follow him into his house all those months ago, but Tommy was the one who let it continue. Who showed up late one night after a case that had gone terribly wrong because he needed to get out of his head and was looking for a distraction. He remembers Charlie's surprise at finding him at his doorstep, the amused, ' _Are you here to make an arrest, Detective Calligan?_ ' before Tommy had pushed inside and shut him up with his mouth and his hands.

To think that, just a few minutes ago, he assumed discussing living arrangements would be innocuous...

Tommy exhales and wills himself to relax. His fingers remain curved lightly around Charlie's wrists, but no longer holding him down. "You don't get to say shit like that and then run."

He counts it as a win that Charlie isn't actively trying to get away anymore, even when his face is so blank that he might as well be hiding behind that mask of his. It's almost impressive, the way he wraps his alter ego like a cocoon around himself, except Tommy knows by now that it's all an act. Bubonic's sardonic amusement, the detached way he's pulling the strings, the implication that human emotions are somehow beneath him — it's bullshit. Charlie's one of the most emotional people Tommy knows, despite his insistence to the contrary: The relentless sense of justice that set him on this path. The grief and the rage that made him snap and lash out blindly. The fierce possessiveness that Tommy thinks should probably frighten him. It doesn't (the opposite, really: it's one hell of a turn-on), which might well end up biting him in the ass eventually, but he'll cross that bridge when he gets to it. Or burn that bridge when he gets to it, perhaps.

He tells himself that he likes the idea of being able to keep a close eye on Charlie to make sure he doesn't cross any lines, that keeping his enemies close is a solid strategy. But none of that has anything at all to do with why he says, "My lease is up in two months."

Charlie's smile is slow and infuriatingly self-satisfied. It's almost enough to make Tommy regret his response. But then he's pulled down by a possessive hand curled around the back of his neck, and Charlie kisses him deeply, licking into his mouth like he owns him, and he forgets to care about whatever fallout there's bound to be.

End.


End file.
